Under Different Circumstances
by MiseryMaker
Summary: What if Booth and Brennan had first met under different circumstances and had not been partners on their first case? Would they still end up partners and lovers?
1. Chapter 1 - His Lucky Day

Under Different Circumstances

_**What if Booth and Brennan had first met under different circumstances and had not been partners on their first case? Would they still end up partners and lovers?**_

_**A/N: I don't own Bones or its characters. There are references within this story to events and dialogue from various Bones episodes, but all good Bones fans will recognize those as tributes to the TV show to which this story pays homage. They are points of reference to the original brilliant work—not an attempt to co-opt them as my own.**_

_**Nothing fancy or overly complicated here. Seven chapters written and ready-some of them very brief. This was a simple exercise dabbling in the experience Sweets encountered during the 100th episode. What if Booth and Brennan had met in a different way. Would the circumstances change their dynamic enough to throw them off course? Would they have been pulled together anyway?**_

_**Those of you who have read my other stories might faint when you see how short this first chapter is... But thanks for stopping here!**_

Chapter 1: His Lucky Day

Today might finally be his lucky day. He'd paid his dues and done his legwork. He'd shaken enough hands and kissed up to just enough of the right people to show he was interested. He'd always been able to outshoot any man in the bureau, and, over time, he had learned how to interrogate the bad guys almost as skillfully. He was smug but not quite obnoxious in his self-confidence, and he didn't mind working hard and getting his hands dirty. He was equally adept at stakeouts, manhandling the guys who tried to get away, and finding the missing pieces of the puzzle. He'd long since mastered the role of FBI agent, and he was ready for that promotion. Agent Seeley J. Booth felt as if the good Lord had made him specifically to lead the task force being put together to infiltrate three organized crime rings, and he was pretty sure his bosses were ready to agree.

Of course, he hadn't realized they would be making the announcement this morning. He'd only seen the email announcing the 8:00 a.m. staff meeting half an hour ago. Anticipating a later, more leisurely start to his morning, he'd planned to slip in to the office and check emails and then head to the gym for a workout followed by a badly needed shower. But once he'd seen that email, there just hadn't been time for any of that. He'd have to get by without that luxury.

He'd been extremely hot last night. Crazy on fire and unstoppable. Riding the all too addictive high of knowing he simply could not lose. Not anticipating what the morning would bring, he had stayed at the same lucky table all night—racking them up one after the other and raking in fistfuls of cash from guys who lost at pool the way he never wanted to lose again. He'd seen his share of ups and downs betting on games—enough to know when to keep going when he was ahead. Last night had been one of those nights-he had absolutely been on a roll and had known better than to stop such a good thing.

Booth was a man who was ordinarily fairly meticulous about his appearance. He cleaned up pretty well. It was unfortunate that he hadn't had time to stop by his apartment for a shower, a shave, and a fresh suit that morning. But being late for this particular meeting simply had not been an option, so he'd just have to adapt and pretend that he wasn't phased at all. Trying to look more put together than he actually was, Booth straightened his tie and yanked the sleeves of his rumpled shirt down to their full length. Then, blowing out a calming breath, he'd slipped through the door and into the conference room. Hoping for more good luck, he slipped a large, strong hand into the pocket of his slacks and patted the folded stash of bills he'd won the previous evening. After scanning the room quickly and finding that he wasn't actually late, he crossed to the back of the room and poured himself a cup of coffee.

Nodding at his peers and making eye contact with his superiors, Booth put on the familiar mask of complete calm and confidence and took a seat near one end of the large table. Sitting still was always a challenge for him; fighting back the urge to move with so much adrenaline coursing through his veins was difficult. Even so, he sat sniper-still-not giving any indication that he was really amped up and excited about this meeting.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Director Cullen began speaking as the rest of the agents settled in around the table, "I'm sure you all know why we've called you here this morning..."


	2. Chapter 2 - The Big News

_**[A/N: Ah… It's all coming back now. I remember well the thrill of getting feedback from readers. It's as much fun as re-watching a favorite Bones episode and noticing something new. It's as thrilling as figuring out a way around a problem when writing a story. And I have you to thank! Thanks very much for reading and reviewing here. Special thanks to Dharmamonkey for her TwitterShout and encouragement. **_

_**I don't own Bones. I do still watch and re-watch it rabidly.]**_

Chapter 2 – The Big News

After the meeting, the room was abuzz with people talking and shaking hands. Booth stood amid his peers, nodding and making obligatory small talk as the room cleared out slowly.

Upon hearing his boss call his name, Booth turned in his direction. "My office. Ten minutes."

"Yes, sir," Booth replied confidently.

After heading back to his desk in the bullpen, Booth made a quick stop by the restroom. While there, he attempted damage control—his clothes were even more rumpled now, and he'd been unable to stop perspiring during the meeting. He was still reeling from the news and needed a moment to prep and be at his best for the solo meeting with his boss's boss's boss. Smoothing a stray hair back into place, he gave a nod of approval at his reflection before turning to leave.

A few minutes later as he waited outside the Director's office, Booth pulled his thoughts and ideas together. Out of habit, he sent a spare charm smile to the Director's assistant and pretended to be checking messages on his phone as he composed himself. He was convinced that he was the picture of calm and self-confidence—or at least he hoped he was.

"Have a seat," the Director commanded as Booth entered the office he'd rarely visited.

"Thank you, sir," he replied, his years of military experience kicking in and taking over.

"Were you surprised by today's announcement, Agent Booth?"

"Yes, sir. I was. A bit," Booth replied in an eerily even tone.

"Any comment you'd like to make about that decision?" Cullen asked, eyeing him carefully.

"No. I do not have a formal comment," Booth responded without showing any emotion. Never mind that he had volumes of informal comments he had opted not to share. This wasn't a contest he'd started, but he sure as hell knew how to play the game he'd been dragged into.

"Look," Cullen began, "I'm gonna cut through the crap and be honest with you. You should be leading that task force. You know and I know that you wanted the job. But your frustration with me and with your boss is misplaced. We are not the reason you weren't selected as team leader."

"Sir…," Booth began, but even he had no idea what he could say that would matter.

"Don't even try to blow smoke up my ass, son. You're angry—more than angry. The way you see it, you're ready. You've paid your dues and waited for your time to shine." At the silence, Booth narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded.

"Well, you're just not ready. You have the talent and the skills and even the smarts for the promotion. But your heart's not in it—not the right way yet. You have been content to just get by. At times, you seem distracted and unfocused. You won't partner up. You haven't advanced your position and done what it takes to earn the respect of those you plan to lead. Hell, you don't even have on a clean suit. I can't put you up in front of that crowd looking like that and expect them to follow you."

"Excuse me, sir?" Booth started, losing his temper quickly.

Cullen shot him a look that closed his mouth. "Oh, you're likable enough and intimidating when you need to be, and you're good at your job. But you don't act like a leader—not yet. You've got potential, Booth, and I'm not clear on why you're sitting back and not leveraging it. If it's alcohol, dry out. If it's a woman, find another one. Or find a new guy—whatever works for you. But until you grow a set and man up to show me and everyone else around here that you're ready for the added pressure and responsibility, I can't promote you."

"I..."

"Don't give me excuses. If you want the next job, show me you're ready for it."

Reeling and angry, Booth nodded at his boss rather than attempt coherent conversation. The decision had been made. The job wasn't going to be his. Adding insubordination to his resume wasn't going to help.

Cullen contented himself with the fact that the agent was swallowing the news without breaking things in his office. He'd actually expected a much bigger outburst. The raw self-control Booth demonstrated was yet another indication that the younger man before him had potential. "Instead of having you lead the task force or even work on it, I'm giving you a cold case to solve. The task force has six months to bring in the perps. See if you can solve this case before they complete theirs."

Booth reached across the desk to accept the folder Cullen was offering. He flipped the file open and glanced at it quickly, ignoring the memo on top for the moment. Apparently he'd have plenty of time to look at that later.

"That's all," Cullen spoke to dismiss him. Booth knew when to get the hell out of dodge.

"Agent Booth?" Cullen barked just as Booth was reaching for the door handle.

Booth turned and made eye contact with the older agent.

"Gambling is not legal in the District." Sniper training had its advantages. He did not move or react to the statement. Instead, Booth left quietly and closed the door behind him before exhaling loudly.

Crap. No promotion. Assignment to a low profile, impossible case. And now he had to give up his gambling habit. This definitely had not been his lucky day.


	3. Chapter 3 -Warming Up the Very Cold Case

_**[A/N: Sorry for the delay. Problems with my FF account this week. Hope that's all resolved.**_

_**Sincere thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing here. I really appreciate the feedback. I warned you at the outset [check the initial A/N if you don't remember] that this story was fairly simple. In this chapter, you'll see how simple the shift of circumstances the plot for this story was. Despite its simplicity, I found it quite interesting to explore the idea. Hope that translates in the way this unfolds. **_

_**And to that kind guest reviewer who raised the issue: selecting this particular case ensured that Brennan couldn't ignore Booth for too long.~MiseryMaker]**_

Chapter 3—Warming up the Very Cold Case

After spending the rest of the morning sulking at his desk and doing anything to avoid diving into the new case that had been forced upon him, Booth left at lunch and hit the gym—knocking down three consecutive guys who tried to spot him while attempting to hold the punching bag steady. Still feeling hostile, instead of showering at the gym, he drove across town to his apartment. He needed a moment to clear his head because he hadn't yet cooled off.

He propped one hand against the cool tiles near the shower nozzle and stood there letting the extraordinarily hot water rain down on him long enough to run up his water bill significantly. He'd hoped the shower would help lighten his mood and relieve his tension. It helped—just not enough. Even so, duty called.

After some attention to his hair and a quick shave, he donned a crisp new suit and grabbed another spare he intended to leave at the office. As he knotted the standard black FBI tie around his collar, he grumbled internally. Ever the good soldier, he'd deal with his crappy orders, but he sure as hell didn't have to like it.

He timed his return to the bullpen when he knew that the agents on the task force would be in a meeting. And he immediately began planning for his casework to take him out of the office and away from his peers who were working on the project he'd wanted so much to lead. His ego was strong and not at all small, but even he didn't want it bruised and battered unnecessarily. He'd just avoid the task force members as much as possible.

Despite his frustration, Booth had shifted automatically into a serious focus on the new case. It was always like that with him—dive right in, figure out what his gut was telling him, and forget about anything but catching the bad guys until he caught them.

He'd been a workaholic for years. Not much else occupied his time except on the weekends when he had Parker. He'd dated plenty of women—just not any long enough to get really serious. Things with Tessa had been intense for a while, but even that hadn't lasted. When it came to women, if his hours weren't the problem, then dating someone steadily had put a cramp in his nights at the pool table.

Not that his gambling was a real problem or anything, he reminded himself. He hadn't let that get out of control.

Regardless, now he planned to throw himself into his work completely. He'd show Cullen. He'd close this case faster than the task force—maybe before they got started. He'd be damned if he'd get passed over again. He was now a man with something to prove.

After he perused the case file and made some preliminary notes, he picked up the phone and dialed the number listed for the next of kin.

"Hi, this is Agent Booth of the FBI. May I speak with a Ms... Temperance Brennan_?" Who names their kid Temperance?_

Upon hearing the greeting, Booth's friendly demeanor was replaced by a more stern one. "Fine. _Doctor_ Brennan. I need to speak with her about an urgent matter."

The robotic voice of the peon answering the phone was really starting to grate on his nerves.

"You need me to leave a message? She isn't there?"

…

He grimaced when he heard the response. "She's too busy to talk to me?"

Most people didn't brush off the FBI, and nobody got away with ignoring him, "Please tell Dr. Brennan to call me today. It's urgent that I speak with her."

He left his office number and shook his head as he hung up the phone. He generally avoided squints and scientific types. He didn't want to know most of what they knew, and they generally had trouble telling him in plain English what he needed to learn from them. Today's call only reinforced to him that it wasn't worth trying to talk to squints unless it was absolutely necessary—even their assistants were annoying.

* * *

The next morning, he'd shown up at the Hoover Building sporting one of his best suits and gotten straight to work. He pretended to ignore the pointed stares other agents had shot at him. However, after enough people gawked at him seriously, he realized that he really must have been slacking about his the wardrobe and sliding into the office a bit too late. Even so, no time to worry about the past. He was driven to improve his future.

A few hours later, he'd completed the preliminary case research and requested reports related to a few potential leads. He'd also called the next of kin for the cold case twice more—each time getting no further in scheduling the meeting. He'd offered to meet her at her home or at a neutral location. He'd gotten no response. He'd balked at her assistant's suggestion that he meet her at American University the following week after one of the classes she planned to teach. He was simply not going to wait that long.

As he worked, Booth tried to forget how much he wanted to leave the office just to sneak in a few games of pool. Gambling had clearly become a crutch—something to take his mind off his problems. Without it, he had to face them head on. Not that he was afraid of hard work or facing problems. He had plenty of experience with both.

Last night had been his first night at home for more than just sleep in ages. Because he'd worked hard to stay busy and fight the urge to bet on something, his apartment was now cleaner and less cluttered than he usually left it. And he'd gotten in an extra workout to boot. Funny the difference a few hours could make. The threat of ending up in a dead-end job was working on him and he was trying to be serious about kicking his bad habit, but he'd been gambling pretty constantly for over a year now—even he had to wonder how long it would be before he gave into the compulsion to gamble—even if only to do it again for one last time.

Sighing audibly, he rubbed his hands on his face a few times before glancing down at the memo on top of the cold case file. That stark white piece of paper had been mocking him all morning. It was a carrot. He knew it. This couldn't have been just your run of the mill cold case. He should have known that it would be more complicated than that. Cullen was keeping his interest by dangling another visible opportunity in front of him. Not what he'd normally pursue, but he was desperate enough to branch out and jump at the offer.

The memo on the case file stated clearly that the bureau was interested in establishing a more formal partnership with the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Laboratory to pull their experts in to work on some of the most challenging special crimes unit cases. So even though he'd been tempted to go over to arrest this woman for evading his attempts to question her, he knew he had to reign in his frustration. He was expected to facilitate this deal with the lab, and he knew that Cullen would not approve if he did anything to keep that from happening. Apparently, the next of kin on the case was a big-wig anthropologist at the lab, so he couldn't just barge in and throw his weight around—not yet anyway.

The bureaucrats in his office had him where they wanted him—desperate enough to deal with the hoops they were making him jump through. Fine. He could jump—and high. He'd show them how well he could manage people. Every single person in that lab would be begging to work—particularly with him—inside of a week. Yeah. He could pull that much off even if the case turned out to be a dud.

As the task force members started trickling back in to the bullpen, he dialed the number he'd memorized by now and called the assistant again. "Agent Booth calling again. Why don't I just come over and meet with Dr. Brennan at her office? This shouldn't take long, but it's crucial to the investigation that I meet with her today."

He listened as the assistant clumsily relayed the information to his boss. Finally, he was getting somewhere.

* * *

Nearly two hours later…

Booth was annoyed before he got through the Jeffersonian security line. Seriously? The bureau wasn't this ridiculous about checking visitors in. He had become even more frustrated at being told to wait in the lobby where he was watched intently by the Rent-A-Security-Guard staff. As he sat impatiently, he rolled his lucky dice around in his pocket and imagined how much of a stress relief it would be to picture these bozos' faces at the shooting range next time he took target practice. As if all of them combined could keep him out of the lab if he was determined to get in there. Besides, they worked on really old dead people in there—why would anyone want to steal an old corpse?

He was glad he'd stopped for lunch before heading over or he'd have been starving by now. For over an hour, every time he'd spoken up when he got more agitated about the delays, they had called Dr. Brennan again. Each time, someone answered but nobody ever showed up to escort him to her. Half an hour later when he reached the end of his patience, Booth complained and asked to speak to her boss. He was finally escorted into a plush office on the top floor of the building. He paused upon entering as he realized that the person he'd planned to interview was not there.

"I'm Dr. Goodman, administrator of this facility," the man intoned in a deep voice.

Booth shook his hand strongly enough for the man to pull away first. "Agent Booth of the FBI. I appreciate your taking time to meet with me, sir, but I'm here today to interview one of your employees… a Dr. Temperance Brennan. There's no need to interrupt your busy schedule. This particular meeting is of a more private nature."

Booth had clearly underestimated the man. Half an hour later, he was still stuck in his office, being regaled with stories of the lab's expertise and reasons why the bureau should contract with them for additional help on special cases. It was pretty convenient that arranging for work across the departments was high on everyone's agenda. That should make part of his job easier. It wasn't exactly helpful to the case at hand, but he'd adapt. To help seal the deal, Booth had been polite and patient and even pretended to give a damn. But it was time for him to get this initial interview over—that or arrest the woman for obstruction just because he'd had to devote this much of his afternoon to waiting for her.

His priority was to solve the cold case. It appeared that setting up the interagency agreement would be much less of a challenge. He schmoozed with the administrator just enough to keep the door to negotiations open. "I will go straight back to the office and talk with the Director about setting up a meeting with you, Dr. Goodman," Booth said reassuringly. "Now, I really must interview Dr. Brennan so that we can launch the full investigation."

The man smiled, but his smile did not hide his nervousness. "Excellent. I shall look forward to initiating a more formal partnership with your office," Dr. Goodman, replied, trying to hide emerging subtle cracks in his polished exterior.

Reading him well, Booth tilted his head slightly as if to encourage the man to continue.

The man cleared his throat nervously, "Agent Booth, I hope that you will be patient with Dr. Brennan. I suspect… that interviewing her will present a challenge."

"What sort of challenge?" Booth asked. No female scientist would challenge him. He'd have her shaking and blabbing everything she knew inside 15 minutes.

Goodman chuckled a bit nervously. "Dr. Brennan is a genius. She is driven and entirely focused on her work. And... as one would expect, finding her mother's remains was quite upsetting to her. Those of us who work with her are accustomed... She tends to be... a bit cold and scientific when she is upset."

"I'll keep that in mind," Booth said as he rose to leave.

"Agent Booth?" Goodman asked as the man reached the doorway. "I don't mean to color your perceptions of Dr. Brennan negatively. I hold her in the highest esteem. I only want to encourage you to be open minded and patient. Your typical techniques may not work with her."

Booth stared at the man a long moment. He really had no way to interpret what he was telling him. "Very well. There's no easy way to say this," Dr. Goodman continued, "Dr. Brennan is entirely awkward and not at all easy to converse with. She is arrogant and condescending—even with those she considers to be her intellectual peers. I suspect she will not deem you one of them. She will resist your attempts to gain information from her, and she will likely shut down completely if you ask her about her feelings. That said, she is honest and driven to search for the truth. Reassuring her that you are focused on finding out the truth about her mother's demise would serve you well."

Booth nodded. No need to offend the guy for overreacting. It was clear that he meant well, and to keep interagency relations in a good place, he'd act appreciative. But he did not need coaching on how to interview next of kin from a lab administrator.

"Dr. Addy," Goodman spoke to the scruffy assistant who had finally appeared in the doorway in response to a page sent earlier. "Please escort Agent Booth to meet with Dr. Brennan."

And with that, they were finally off.

_**[Enough with the setup. Next chapter, he'll meet her. I promise!] **_


	4. Chapter 4 - They Meet

_**[A/N: I do not own Bones. I wouldn't want that much pressure—it's much more fun just to watch and adore them and write the occasional fanfic.]**_

Chapter 4: They Meet

Dr. Addy did not attempt to talk to him as they walked. _Thank heavens_, Booth thought. At least the geek had the sense not to make awkward attempts at small talk neither of them wanted.

They left the part of the building dedicated to management offices and slowly meandered down long hallways toward the lab. Booth considered how different the stark lighting and metal fixtures were from the offices in his own building. He watched as people in lab coats moved items for exhibits and scientific samples from one place to another. Few people nodded or smiled. It wasn't exactly a friendly environment. This place was all brains and no brawn… He'd hate working in a sterile place like this.

As a raised platform across the lab came into view, he heard a woman speaking harshly to one of her employees. Her acerbic tone caught his attention. By the time he and Dr. Addy stopped at the foot of the stairs to the platform, he'd already figured out that the woman he could hear halfway across the lab was the woman he was there to interview. _Great..._

"Dr. Hodgins, I appreciate the fact that it takes time to sift through and take samples given the volume and variation of the particulates associated with this specimen, but I cannot wait much longer to examine the bones. How much more time do you need—10 minutes? An hour? I want agreement on a precise deadline. My time is entirely too valuable for me to stand around waiting for you to finish your work."

"Fine. You want an exact time? How about 6 PM tomorrow night?" the curly-haired scientist barked right back at her.

"Surely you are not serious...," she roared in disbelief.

"Like hell, I'm not!" he bellowed.

Booth had to give the guy credit. He was really taking a stand.

"Dr. Brennan...," Dr. Addy attempted to get her attention. The woman had not turned to face them the entire time they'd been standing there.

Without breaking her stare at the man arguing with her, she barked orders to her assistant, "Zach, please x-ray the remains and return them to Dr. Hodgins. We can begin examining the films while we wait for the actual bones to become available."

As she'd finally turned and glanced their way, Booth felt his jaw drop but was unable to close it. She had the most beautiful eyes. He was hypnotized by them despite the fact that she was clearly so angry she had hardly noticed him. He watched as she looked past him to take note of something specific and then slowly directed her gaze back upon him. When she finally looked at him, her eyes held his tightly—as if they had locked onto him with radar. Her hair... it was shiny and looked soft. It was pulled up into a messy ponytail hovering above her lab coat—the kind begging for someone to let it down. He'd have volunteered. The fact that she was smart and fiery had drawn his attention, but her appearance had blown him away. She didn't look like any squint he'd ever met. Yeah, she was hot. He considered himself a bit of an expert on these matters, and even though she was tough and overly loud about it, she definitely fell into the "why the hell did I have to meet her on a case" category. As he was thinking about what a real shame that was, her eyes fell upon him again for a brief moment. He held his breath as she studied him intently. She seemed to reach some kind of conclusion about him in mere seconds. Even though he felt like an organism on a microscope petri dish—her serious stare did nothing to decrease his impression of how hot she was.

Before he could remind himself to focus on the reason for his visit, Dr. Brennan turned immediately back to the man in front of her. "Dr. Hodgins, I will comply with your request, but the next time you take that tone with me, I will have you fired for insubordination. Are we clear?"

Without waiting for a response, she fled down the stairs and rushed past them. She ignored her assistant's continued attempts to announce the presence of the FBI agent.

Surprised to be feeling some sympathy for the squint, Booth nodded to him and whispered, "No worries, kid. I've got this. Go do those x-rays before she fires you, too."

"I wouldn't...," Dr. Addy began, but Booth had already turned to use his long strides to catch up to the woman. Shrugging, Dr. Addy turned to the platform to follow his boss's orders.

Despite his long legs, Booth nearly had to jog to catch up with her. As he moved, he called out to her, but she seemed to be thinking or otherwise was too distracted to notice. As he finally drew within reach, he gently tugged on her elbow to get her attention.

She whirled on him and got right up in his face. Unconsciously, he backed up against the wall behind him, his loose hold on her elbow still secure.

Through gritted teeth, she hissed at him, "If you don't move your hand immediately, I will be forced to employ my martial arts skills. I have not granted you permission to touch me, so I can only consider your inappropriate commandeering of my arm to be an assault."

Okay, so her being angry at him… definitely increased the "hot" factor. He stared at her long and hard, unable to resist imagining just for a moment how she'd react if he just yanked her to him and kissed her the way he assumed that she clearly needed to be kissed. But his steamy thoughts were quickly interrupted.

"Are... You... Mentally... Challenged? A... Specific... Needs... Person?" she asked loudly, pausing between words and enunciating very clearly.

"What?!" he squawked in response, thrown by her words. He released her arm and put his hands on his hips in frustration, leaning toward her again automatically without realizing it.

"I can only assume... by the way that you are staring open-mouthed at me... that you did not understand my warning," she explained loudly, slowing down her speech as if doing so would help him follow along.

"Special... You mean 'special needs.' But I am definitely NOT 'special needs' and you don't need to defend yourself from me. I'm an FBI agent—**_I_** am the one who defends people."

After squinting at him for a moment, she turned and walked into the third office down the walkway on the left. It took him a moment to realize that she'd gotten away before he had a chance to talk to her.

Sighing audibly, he followed.

As he entered the doorway and looked around to find her, he noticed that she was sitting at her desk staring at the computer. As he took one step inside the room to speak to her, she picked up the receiver on the telephone and dialed a number. "Yes, this is Dr. Brennan. Please send a security guard to my office. There is a man in the building who is stalking me. You'll need to remove him immediately or it will be necessary for you to call an ambulance to retrieve him and attend to his serious injuries. Thank you." She hung up just as abruptly.

"Seriously? Look, _**Doctor** _Brennan. I'm Agent Seeley Booth, and I'm with the FBI." He held up his badge as proof. He took the opportunity to walk closer. "I've been calling you since yesterday morning trying to meet with you about your mother's case."

He watched as the realization dawned on her. He thought he saw a flicker of embarrassment and emotion before she restored her composure quickly.

"I see." At that moment, two security guards came rushing into the office. Booth turned slowly and held his badge up high. As he spoke authoritatively to them, he used his right hand to pull his jacket back to reveal his firearm which was still holstered, "This was all a misunderstanding, guys. I signed in downstairs, and I'm here to interview Dr. Brennan as part of a murder investigation."

"Doctor Brennan?" one of the guards asked.

"Thank you for the quick response. Apparently, Mr. Booth is not a threat. I am no longer in need of your services." The men left the room as quickly as they'd entered it.

Booth turned back to the woman and saw that she was already back at work on her computer.

"It's Agent Booth...," he said with emphasis.

"From an anthropological standpoint, leaders who feel it necessary to announce their stature and position have been shown to be those at most risk of losing both," she stated factually.

He wanted to arrest her or at least argue with her, but he took the high road just to get the damned interview started. "Look, I can see that you're busy. I will get out of your hair if you answer a few questions. Okay?" he grumbled.

She looked puzzled for a moment and then nodded. "Proceed."

"May I sit?" he asked, looking around for a place to sit down. She rose and strode across the room purposefully, gesturing to the chair next to her sofa for him.

Eager to move on before he started staring at her again, he jumped right in. "I'm the agent in charge of investigating your mother's case. I understand that you found her remains here… at the Jeffersonian?"

"Yes."

He looked at her and nodded, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he prompted, "And?"

"And what?"

"And I'd like for you to tell me about the last time you saw your parents and then we'll talk about the day you found your mother's remains."

She shook her head "no" almost imperceptibly and then bolted for her desk before rushing toward the door to her office, talking nonstop as she moved, "This is a complete waste of time. My written statement and all of the evidence you need are in the file."

Surprising her, Booth beat her to the doorway and stood as tall and strong as possible to make sure she knew he was not going to let her pass.

Gritting her teeth, she growled at him, "That earlier call to security was a formality. Please move or I will be forced to remove you from my path."

He chuckled at the suggestion, and leaned his forearm casually on the doorframe. Damn, this woman was something else. "I'm sure you're good," he stated, innuendo clearly intended, "but I'm bigger and stronger than you. And I am armed."

Still undaunted, she took time to measure his form and stature (for more than just preparation for combat). After a few spark-filled moments of staring with intent to do more, she continued, "I'm sure you would present a challenge, but I am not easily intimidated. I am quite skilled in martial arts."

"Hey, give it a shot. The first one's free," he cajoled with a smarmy grin. "We'll see who takes who down."

"Whom," she corrected.

"Whatever," he replied.

She paused considering her options. Seeing the challenge on her face, he realized that he actually wanted her to charge him—just to give him a reason to put his hands on her. But when she didn't back down, he offered her a logical reason to do so.

"If you hit me, you'll be arrested for assaulting a federal officer."

"Very well. I understand your logic," and having made up her mind in a split-second, she returned to her seat.

"Thank you," he began. He was starting to understand what Goodman had been talking about earlier. Just asking the first question had taken forever. He was nowhere near an answer yet—not that he minded spending time with the sexy scientist. She had definitely captured his attention. He couldn't predict what would happen next. It felt sort of like the kind of rush he felt when gambling. Enjoying anything that gave him an outlet for that type of energy, he continued his attempts to question her.

"What I hope to learn from your retelling me what's in the file is additional information that may help me find your mother's killer."

In fits and starts, he asked questions and got short, often cryptic answers from her. He stuck to the basics—where they had lived, what her parents did, where she went to school, etc. He got little from her, but he could see that answering even these basic questions was hard on her. He tried to be patient when she completely ignored him whenever someone from the lab stopped by to provide her with information. It was clear that she was much more comfortable doing her work than participating in this interview. He'd have preferred to shut the door to her office to limit the distractions, but he suspected that he'd have to argue with her about that. Better to keep going since this was taking forever as it was.

When he asked about the last conversation she'd had with her parents, he saw tears welling. Damn, he really didn't want to see her cry. She seemed so tough and tightly wound, and the cracks in her tough exterior only made her more intriguing.

"Look, I know this is difficult, and I am very sorry for your loss," he offered. She blinked back tears and turned away from him to hide them. He hated how much even the hint of tears from her bothered him. He was usually more immune to people's reactions—it was better to stay objective. Still, unable to sit there doing nothing, he held a handkerchief out in her line of vision. She took it and nodded slightly—she had clearly been unprepared for his kindness. Unwelcome emotion struck her again. She dabbed at her eyes quickly and offered the handkerchief back to him.

"Thank you," she said softly, "That was kind."

He smiled sadly at her and squeezed the handkerchief. Snapping himself out of the trance he seemed to enter whenever she looked at him, he continued, "We've made enough progress for today. I'll go back and do some more research and follow up on the information you provided. We'll need to talk again soon. I understand that this is difficult. Would you prefer to meet at a location outside the Jeffersonian?"

"Yes."

He handed a card to her and asked her to call him if she remembered anything important. He rose and walked the door and stopped to look back at her. "It was very nice to meet you, Dr. Brennan. I promise to do all I can to find your mother's killer."

Without waiting for her to say anything, he left her office. She watched him walk away from her, his gait broadcasting clearly to all who might encounter him his confidence, skill and imposing physical prowess. At the same time, it told her—if no one else—that he also had a significant history of physical injury, damage, and pain.

As he slipped out of sight, she exhaled slowly, surprised to realize that she had not been breathing regularly since she had first looked at him. Ignoring what that might mean, she immersed herself in her work again.


	5. Chapter 5 - More Than A Few Good Leads

_**[A/N: Thank you all for reading and reviewing here. Hopefully I'll be able to post the rest of this story fairly quickly. **_

_**Dabbling with a story that's as great as the Bones and Booth love story is always risky. Tinkering with their dynamic and the way they interact is even more of a challenge. So much of the way they relate to one another stems from years and years of spending time together and learning from each other and hundreds, if not thousands, of subtle little moments. Taking that out of context is a bit strange and watching them adapt is unnerving. I alternate between being excited about this storyline and thinking it's just blah... I personally prefer the way most things have unfolded on TV and could never write anything that magical, yet it is interesting to ponder what would have happened if they'd met on another case.**_

_**I don't own or make any claim to Bones. That's Booth's job, anyway. **_

_**Hope you enjoy this chapter. ~MiseryMaker]**_

Chapter 5: Pursuing More Than Just A Few Good Leads

Booth logged his notes in his files and checked on the results of his database searches. He perused the police reports detailing the disappearance of the Brennans and the failure of the investigation to yield anything substantial. He tracked down and spoke with the cops who had been assigned to the case—one of whom (_did he mentally just correct himself the way the hot scientist had?_) had already retired.

"Something about the case was off, but we never could figure out what. That girl—the teenager—she was angry and not much help. I knew that it was a cover—she was scared as hell and falling apart. She went into foster care a few weeks later. Wonder whatever happened to her. Nothing good, I suspect."

Booth paused a moment to consider the fact that Dr. Brennan had suffered even more than he'd realized. Foster care wasn't something he'd wish on anyone. He decided to cut the scientist some slack. "Actually," he confided. "She turned out all right."

"Damn, that's good to hear," former detective Kowalski confessed. "Hard not knowing what happens to people later. Probably for the best. Glad the kid turned out okay. Especially after her brother ran out on her."

By the time the call was finished, Booth had determined to give the scientist a wider berth. Her childhood made his look like a picnic. _**Jeez...**_

He sighed, putting those thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand. In that call to Kowalski, he had learned more about Dr. Brennan's estranged brother and about the car that had been impounded after her parents' disappearance. Not much more to go on, but it was something. He made a few calls to have a team retrieve the abandoned vehicle, and started work locating the delinquent brother.

He chalked it up to the lack of booze and gambling, but the case weighed on him—especially after hours. Something about the super-smart scientist trying to pretend she wasn't torn up over losing her mother pulled at him. Maybe he recognized a bit of himself in her in the way she jutted out her chin, determined to show she was still tough and that she could survive yet another painful experience and retain a little dignity. He recognized the loneliness and determination in her blustering all too well—God knows he'd felt both enough before Pops had rescued him from his own hellish childhood.

* * *

A few days later...

Booth called Dr. Brennan and left her a message suggesting that she meet him at Wong Fu's at 7:30 p.m. He'd told Sid he would be working and asked him for a table with a bit more privacy. Booth sat at the bar and nursed a drink while he waited for the scientist to arrive. Patience was not his strong suit, but he felt more impatient than usual waiting for her to show. When she did, she was 45 minutes late and not at all apologetic for her tardiness_.** Infuriating.**_ Before Booth could complain, Sid had swept in and introduced himself, sweet-talking the lady as he led her to a circular booth in the back. As Booth slid onto the bench seat and sat down, she leaned toward him conspiratorily, "You are obviously held in high esteem here."

"Sid's a great guy," he deflected. He took a moment to check her out in her street clothes. He told himself it was so that he could get a sense of who she was when she was out of her lab coat, but he couldn't help admiring the way that her current casual clothing hugged her curves.

Oblivious to his subtle ogling, she asked, "Shall we order?"

"No." Booth stated. He went on to explain that Sid knew what his customers needed and that he'd bring them something.

"He couldn't possibly..." she began to argue.

He reached out and put a hand gently upon her forearm to stop her. The jolt of energy created by that simple touch threw both of them off kilter for a few moments. She looked up and into his warm brown eyes for a long moment and noted once again how appealing a physical specimen he was.

Booth pulled his hand back reluctantly. "You're a scientist," he began, his voice hinting at a challenge, "Consider this an experiment. Let him bring your food. If it isn't wonderful, we'll meet somewhere else next time." As he'd suspected, she was too curious not to wait to find out what Sid would bring.

"Your terms are satisfactory. Although I cannot imagine that he will be able to predict my unique dietary restrictions and preferences."

"Sid knows," he said with a wry smile. She scoffed at the idea.

He leaned toward her a bit as he responded. "It's true. I'm not sure how, but don't question it. Go with your gut."

"I don't know what that means," she confided, looking to him for additional information about the expression.

Inching even closer, he smiled at the earnest expression on her face, "Trust your instincts. Trust Sid until he gives you a reason not to."

"So you propose that I give Sid the same courtesy I've extended to you," she suggested with a smile, as she too leaned toward him involuntarily.

"Well... Yeah...," he replied with a goofy grin that betrayed a bit of the impact she had on him when she looked at him for any length of time.

Sid noticed the connection between the pair from across the restaurant. Gravity was pulling them together whether they realized it or not. He smiled to himself as he noticed that his friend Booth was clearly in over his head. Alcohol was in order; maybe getting her tipsy would even things out a bit. At just the opportune moment, Sid appeared with a glass of wine for the scientist and a tumbler of Scotch for the FBI agent. After putting them down on the table, he returned quickly and poured a shot of tequila for each of them. "For courage," he offered before placing the bottle on the table and leaving them alone again.

As the alcohol from the shot warmed her and helped her relax, Temperance pondered her earlier conversation with Angela as she left the lab.

"_Whoa… it's not even seven… wait… it's only 6:30, and you're leaving. Who died?" Angela blurted as she stepped into her friend's path to slow her progress._

"_I have a meeting with the FBI… about my mother's case," Temperance offered, attempting to sidestep her friend. _

"_Wait a minute… the FBI is a government agency. They don't have meetings after five. Where are you really going?"_

"_You are misinformed about the agency. I do, in fact, have a meeting with the FBI this evening."_

"_With Agent Yummy Chocolate Eyes and Pecs of Steel, I hope," Angela replied hopefully._

"_I don't know what that means," Temperance responded, her frustration with the delay showing._

"_Even you aren't that obtuse, Bren," Angela retorted as she moved into her friend's path again._

"_I…"_

"_Out with the details. With whom are you meeting… and where… and when?" Angela insisted, sensing that her friend was hiding critical information and hoping that meant she actually might have something she wanted to hide._

"_Really, Angela, I have to go..."_

"_Spill..."_

"_Fine. I'm meeting Agent Booth at a restaurant at 7:30."_

_She watched as her friend's mouth fell open._

"_What?! We intend to discuss my mother's case."_

"_Nothing…," Angela replied with an enormous grin filling her face._

"_Very well. Goodnight," Temperance replied as she moved past her friend to leave._

She'd been more than relieved to have extricated herself from that undesirable conversation about facts she wished weren't in evidence. However, she'd felt Angela's gaze as she left the lab and couldn't help wondering what her friend had gleaned from that brief conversation. Had Angela realized that she was leaving early enough to go home and freshen up before her dinner meeting? Had she given away some clue about the attraction she felt for "Agent Yummy Chocolate Eyes" or about her anticipation of meeting him again that evening? She hoped not, but she had learned not to underestimate Angela's perception about such matters. Her friend had been insisting that she "tap that" and "do him" incessantly since she'd seen him swagger out of the lab a few days before. She'd even offered to ask him out and take him for a test drive—although Temperance wasn't clear on what driving had to do with their conversations about the FBI agent's physique and correlated assumptions about his prowess.

Determined not to be noticed doing so, Temperance snuck a fresh look at the man seated at the table with her. She'd been late because she had seriously considered not showing up for the meeting. Talking with this man was different. Seemingly without effort, he pried at her emotions and made her feel vulnerable when others would not have been able to do so. She sensed danger when she was near him. She just wished that it frightened her more.

Temperance observed as his Adam's apple bobbed as Agent Booth took a swig of water. She scrutinized the sharp line of his mandible and breadth of his shoulders appreciatively. She continued to stare at him until he sensed that her attention was focused on him and swung his gaze directly at her. For more than a moment, the air between them flickered with the possibility of things unsaid and moves not yet made, and both of them wondered what it would be like to give in to the temptation plaguing them.

In an attempt to break the escalating tension, she asked Agent Booth about the purpose of their meeting. He paused a moment, as if he might be wishing that she hadn't broken the silence and snapped them out of the pull of attraction. For what seemed a very long time, she grilled him for details. He explained what he'd found thus far and what he was following up on next. After telling her even more than he typically would have, he stopped talking and let her mull over what she'd learned. Then, when she remained silent, he looked straight into her eyes as he told her that he'd talked to the cops who'd investigated her parents' disappearance and watched hers freeze over when he mentioned that "Kowalski retired years ago, but he remembered you. He asked what happened to you after you went to foster care."

Her silence and refusal to meet his eyes after that told him clearly that she would not discuss that experience with him. It wasn't relevant to the case, so he opted not to press. Instead, he told Dr. Brennan about finding her parents' car.

She immediately asked to see the car so that she could begin examining the evidence. He noted from her adamant reaction that she was accustomed to being in charge and not being questioned. As he'd expected, she'd been more than unhappy to hear that she could not work on the case. Realizing that she'd continue to argue her point, he poured another shot for each of them and clinked their glasses together before taking a drink. She reluctantly followed suit.

He offered her the only consolation available, "You can't help, but your team can." She did not look appeased, so he continued, "It would be a conflict of interests—if the case goes to trial, any evidence reviewed by you would be thrown out." She was silent after his dismissal of her request. He gave her time to adjust to the idea. Fortunately, their meal arrived soon and broke the awkward silence.

Temperance was amazed to see the delicious vegetarian meal Sid personally delivered, insisting that it would be her new favorite. She suspected that he might be correct in that prediction, but she refused to confess that to the man sitting across from her. When she glanced up at him to see if he was waiting for a reaction, she saw that his gaze was clearly on her. She wondered how long he'd been looking at her and what he was thinking. Agent Booth nodded as if no statement were necessary—he knew that Sid had succeeded in bringing what she wanted to eat.

Suspecting that he would get cocky if allowed to bask in his success for too long, she redirected the conversation as they ate, "But I can remain objective. I can compartmentalize," she insisted. Stubbornness filled her features, but her eyes begged him to believe that what she said was true.

"I'm sure you can," he agreed. "But it's just not possible. I'm sorry."

Stubborn and determined, she redirected her argument, "But we're better qualified and more skilled. The Jeffersonian technicians and laboratory staff are far superior to the FBI's resources."

He started to argue but decided that he needed to keep the lines of communication open, "I'm gonna chalk that up to the tequila because I'd like to think that you didn't mean to be so rude, Dr. Brennan," he said, trying to let her know her comments were out of line. She shot him a look of realization that seemed genuine—perhaps the genius scientist really didn't know how to talk to regular people. He continued, "Maybe, the Jeffersonian is better, but we're good, too. I can't allow you to help with the review of samples from the crime scene, Dr. Brennan. It's not an option."

She flinched slightly at his words and looked away unhappily. Her unhappiness struck him harder than it should have, "Hey, I'm sorry. It's just the rules."

"I understand," she said, trying to regain her composure. He wondered why she seemed so emotional all of a sudden. It was clear that she preferred to keep her emotions at bay most of the time.

"Are you okay?" he questioned. "Of course," she said, blinking hard a few times before playing with her food. She hated feeling vulnerable, and this man had made her feel that way more than once.

"I really don't mean to pry," he offered.

"Then don't," she snapped.

He grimaced at her but he couldn't help himself from continuing, "It's just… you looked really sad just now. I thought you might be remembering something… about the case."

Still frustrated with him, she looked up into his pleasing face prepared to argue and instead, found that she felt compelled to answer his questions, "You are correct."

He looked at her. This woman was driving him nuts. There was no easy conversation with her—about anything. Still, he had to wonder if he was part of the problem. Most of his brain shut down when she looked at him for more than a few seconds. He stared back at her, willing her to open up about what had upset her. After a stare down of wills that had both pulses rising again, she relented, "It's just a memory. It is not important to the case." She lied, hoping that he would just leave her alone.

He nodded and stayed quiet, but his eyes asked her the questions he had not yet voiced.

After several long, awkward moments, she relented—noting that he was as stubborn as she was, "You want me to tell you anyway." He nodded.

"Very well," she began, clearly unhappy to be revealing the personal memory.

"The last time I spoke with my mother, we fought… about a boy of whom she did not approve. The last thing she said to me was that dating him was 'not an option.'" She paused, emotion threatening to take control for a moment. "Your choice of precisely the same phraseology during this time of recollection about those events in my past must have triggered the memory. As I said, it's not important."

"It is to you," he confided sympathetically. When she looked up at him uncomfortably, he continued, "We all have baggage, Dr. Brennan. I suspect that you have more than most of us." She started to argue, but he raised a hand to cut her off, "Even if that's not the case, I've learned that ignoring my past works sometimes, but there are times when I just have to deal with the bad memories." He hoped his words would bring her some consolation.

"Are the bad memories related to injuries you sustained during your military service? Were you held captive, tortured? Soldiers deployed in areas where you served were often..."

As she resumed eye contact with him and was immediately trapped by his angry stare, she trailed off. Uncertain what to do, she continued trying to explain. "I can tell by your gait that your bones bear the marks of serious injuries. Given your time as an Army Ranger and sniper, I can only postulate..."

He was angry enough not to let himself be cheered by the fact that she had read up on his background, too. She might be a genius, but he'd be damned if he'd talk to her—or to anyone—about the abuses he encountered during his military service. "We are NOT talking about me. I was just trying to be nice and help you feel better about being emotional. That was not an invitation for you to butt into _**my**_ personal life."

He polished off the remainder of his scotch and motioned for another from the bar. She watched the tension in his jaw and realized that this was another situation in which she had misread the conversational context. "I apologize. I am not skilled at reading social cues," she offered sincerely. "But you can certainly understand why I prefer not to discuss my past."

He took a deep breath to steel his emotions. Fortunately, the cop and the soldier in him could do that on a dime. "I can. We're only exploring your past because of the case about your mother's murder. I'm not being nosy, Dr. Brennan. I'm just doing my job."

"As you must," she replied.

The sad, determined look on her face instantly killed the anger he'd built up toward her. His mind continued to repeat the half-truths he'd been feeding her (and himself) about their conversations being all about just doing his job. _I always take clients out for drinks and dinner here at Sid's. I always let a witness stall and drag things out this long. I always fight the urge to slide closer to people I interview and wrap my arms around them. I always dream about being more than intimate with the next of kin during a murder investigation. I always let the next of kin move me to do things that I shouldn't._

"Hey," he said in a low voice, leaning closer to her automatically, "it's late, but I can get us into the shop. You can't touch the evidence or take samples, but you can see the car. Wanna go check it out?"

The red tape would add hours to his work week, but he ignored that fact now. The look on her face made bending more than a few rules worth it. "Yes," she said enthusiastically as she placed cash enough for both meals on the table and rose to leave immediately. "I will follow you there."

"No, I'll drive," he insisted as he returned her cash to her and offered to pay Sid for their tab. "This one's on me, my friends. You can pay next time," Sid announced. Booth ignored the smug look on his friend's face. He didn't want to think about what it meant right then.

On the way to the vehicle storage center, the pair bickered. She complained about his failure to wear a seatbelt and suggested that his blood alcohol level might not be low enough to ensure complete safety for their trip. He insisted that size alone made him more sober than her and then defended his aggressive driving and the route chosen when she questioned his judgment. Trying to change the subject away from their current mode of transportation to avoid continued argument, she asked him if he was aware that he was a direct descendant of John Wilkes Booth. He nearly put her out of the car when she asked that one.

He was kicking himself for offering to do this for her by the time they arrived. Still, they were there, and he was determined to follow through.

Once inside, she focused all of her attention on the vehicle. "The name of my school has been scraped off the bumper sticker," she observed, wandering closer and reaching into her bag.

"Dr. Brennan, you cannot take samples." She held up some sort of black light flashlight as if that was an answer to his warning before shining it around the interior of the car. He saw her flinch when the light hit the front seat and floorboard.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Blood. Large quantities of it," she whispered. Counting on the fact that she was upset by what she'd seen, he turned her around and guided her out of the building with a hand low on her back. Still, she tried to get permission to work the evidence, "And you're certain this facility is secure. You could watch me take samples..."

"I'll bring your staff here and supervise them myself in the morning," he promised. Checking his watch, he realized how late it was. He made an excuse about both of them needing some rest and ushered her back into the car. She remained uncharacteristically quiet as he drove her back to Wong Fu's. She immediately left his car with a quiet "goodbye" and entered her car to drive home.

As if compelled by some external force, he pulled into traffic behind her and followed her home. He pulled over after she parked her car and closed his eyes for a moment. He was exhausted but he also felt strange letting her out of his sight. He took a moment to lecture himself about how it was his first priority to work on the case. Then he tried to figure out why he was getting far too involved in the way this particular woman was feeling. He was already in trouble at work, and he didn't need to do anything to complicate this assignment.

He was jolted out of his mental pep talk by a light rap on the window of his SUV.

"Why are you following me?" she demanded.

He lowered the glass. "I… Sorry. I thought you were upset. I just wanted to make sure that you got home safely." He braced for an attack or a lecture or for her to yank open the door and try to kick his ass. A not so small part of him wished that she would.

"That was kind," she said softly, taking him by surprise again. "Completely unnecessary, but kind. Good night." The way she said "kind" yanked on his heartstrings. It was as if kindness was so foreign to her that she held it in extremely high regard.

Shaking his head because he realized he was being an idiot, he leapt out of the car and followed her as if doing so were a habit. "Dr. Brennan?" he inquired as he caught up to her. She looked at him—half annoyed and half confused—as if she were afraid he might be asking to go upstairs with her but that she would not be entirely disappointed with the prospect.

"I… I lost my parents when I was young, too."

Stunned by his unsolicited confession, she stammered, "Why… Why did you feel the need to tell me that?"

"I don't know. I just…," _I am drawn to you and would ask you out if I could_, he thought. What he actually said was less career-altering, "I want to be honest with you. I want you to know that you can trust me. Things felt lopsided with me poking around in your past. It seems… a little hypocritical not to share a little bit, too."

She smiled up at him, clearly moved by his gesture. Feeling skittish being that near him and not wanting to consider why, she joked, "Is that FBI protocol?" As she looked into his eyes, she realized that her words could clearly be construed as flirtatious. She decided that she'd let him interpret them as he would.

He grinned and shook his head, glad that she was trying to lighten the mood, "No, that's MY protocol."

"I see," she smiled in return, ignoring the biochemical reactions occurring that indicated that she was seriously attracted to him. "I appreciate the gesture—however pointless it may be."

Her words snapped him out of his trance, "Pointless? You think my being nice was pointless?"

"Not in itself. But your communication of intensely personal information in an attempt to bond with me seems to be motivated by psychology. I don't put much stock in psychology."

His head hurt from trying to keep up with her. He decided that he'd better leave before his brain invented another excuse for him to stay.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she said softly, watching him walk back to his sport utility vehicle. She pondered the reasons why she so frequently stared after him as he walked away from her.

He offered an awkward wave in her direction as he cranked the car and pulled into traffic. Ignoring the call of the bar and the pool tables and the suckers who were there waiting for someone exactly like him to take advantage of their addiction, he drove home.


	6. Chapter 6 -Witness in Interrogation Room

_**[A/N: I was blown away by the reviews for that last chapter. Thanks so much for taking time out of your busy schedules to leave those comments. It really helps to know that at least part of this story seems believable or authentic on some level!**_

_**I don't own Bones. My only claim is that I adore watching it and rewatching it and rewatching it. That's enough for me. May all the money and credit always go to Bones' rightful owners and creators. ~MiseryMaker]**_

Chapter 6: The Witness in the Interrogation Room

Agent Booth had exhausted most of the leads he'd dug up thus far. Today might turn out to be yet another dead end, but it was the biggest lead remaining that he had not yet exhausted... He had hauled Russ Brennan in for questioning.

Before he began interviewing the man, he knew that he needed to talk to his sister. He told himself that was all it was—an ordinary preparatory meeting for an interview. It couldn't be that he really wanted to see Dr. Brennan and had busted his behind managing the case to ensure that he hadn't had to wait too long to spend time with her again. Even though this was his only current case and working it was his primary goal, he wasn't comfortable admitting to himself that he was actually eager to see the next of kin again. In the end, it turned out to be a good thing he hadn't been that honest with himself because once he had located her brother, it had taken three infuriating days of unreturned phone calls to get her to commit to a date and time for breakfast at The Royal Diner, his favorite eating spot.

* * *

A few days later, at the appointed meeting time and place, he'd become caught up in talking with the sexy scientist—so much so that he hadn't actually gotten around to explaining what would happen next. When he'd filled her in on the status of the investigation, she'd complained about the lack of progress he'd made. _Jeez... he was moving at warp speed with what he had to go on._ He'd asked her a few questions about results her staff and FBI techs had provided from their examination of the car, and she chided him again for not allowing her to examine the evidence herself. Even during that short meal they had bickered—sometimes loudly—and he hated how much that turned him on.

"I invited you here to tell you," he finally got to the topic at hand, "that I am interviewing someone this morning about your mother's case. And if you'd like to listen in on that interview, you are welcome to do so."

She glanced at her watch and was stunned to realize how long she'd been sitting there conversing with him idly. Chagrined, she opted to search for an escape route. Absolutely nothing kept her from focusing solely on her work when there were remains to identify. It was concerning that she had allowed this man to distract her from her primary purpose for so long. "How long will this interview last? I have remains of unknown origin to examine and identify today."

"It shouldn't take long," Booth explained as he pulled out his wallet and left enough money to cover their meals on the table. "We can head to the bureau now."

He rose and turned to lift his jacket off the back of the chair he'd been sitting in. He pulled it on, turned around, and nearly collided with the scientist as he stepped toward her side of the table. He hadn't seen her stand first and move toward him with a pressing question. It wasn't clear who had entered whose personal space, but it was painfully apparent to both of them that their bodies were close enough to be sharing space usually reserved for family and others with whom one was intimate. Heat and pheromones and other chemicals ping-ponged between their bodies. For a long, electrically charged moment, their eyes met and everything but their racing heartbeats seemed to still.

Purposefully breaking the blissful, energy-charged silence, she inquired abruptly, "Does the FBI reimburse you for meals with family members of victims?"

"What?!" he asked in a higher-pitched voice, stunned by her question. He'd been caught up in her gaze and preoccupied trying to decide exactly what color her eyes were.

"It's a simple question, Agent Booth. I cannot understand why you continue to pay for meals for me when our interactions are of a purely professional nature. As such, I want to know if the reason that you continue to try to pay for my meals is because you can expense them… or not." That last "or not" had been intentional. She had given him an opportunity to explain a more personal reason for paying for meals and treating their time together like a date. That's what this breakfast had felt like early on. In fact, even though it was not at all logical, that's what every one of their meetings after the first had felt like. Put on the spot, she actually anticipated that he'd confess that he wanted to ask her out. Never one to back down from any challenge, she waited breathlessly for his response.

Damn. She tripped him up at every turn. It should have annoyed him more than it fascinated him. It didn't. _Dammit._ "The bureau does not reimburse me for this type of expense without prior approval," Booth noted, his annoyance with her question echoing loudly in his tone and expression. "But I was just trying to be a gentleman by offering to pay. I invited you out for a meal. It's the polite thing to do."

_Chivalry. How antiquated. And not a direct request to intentionally spend more personal time with me. He looks as if he's attracted to me. But perhaps I'm misreading the situation. Fine_. _I'll play along and call his bluff_. "I see. Well, I am completely capable of paying for my own meals. In fact, I would postulate that I am paid quite more generously for my work than you are. In particular, I would assert that I should be paying for your meals when we meet at restaurants—unless there is a reason you would be unable to accept a meal paid for... by me." She stopped speaking abruptly, actually afraid that if she continued speaking that she would just plunge ahead and end up asking him out. She hoped he'd say something soon because she was afraid to open her mouth to say anything else.

Hell, this woman drove him nuts. Here he was just trying to be a nice guy, and she wanted to quibble over technicalities and was asking him to recite the bureau's manuals from memory. He watched as her eyes seemed to gleam with honest inquiry and a bit of something else he could tell was far too dangerous to investigate. He bet she had no idea how much more attractive she was when she was trying to figure something out. On the other hand, part of him wondered if she knew exactly what kind of effect she had on men... on him... on him as a man... He stopped the mental rambling, but it took some serious effort. He hoped she didn't see how much this little impromptu standoff was working him up.

Taking a deep breath, he put on his poker face and thought briefly about the fact that it felt like it had been ages since he'd had to use one. _Damn, thinking about her has distracted me from gambling for days..._ But instinctively shifting to a gambling frame of mind, he wondered if her eyes would change color if he just leaned in closer and...

He watched and was fascinated the moment she realized that he was moving even closer. He marveled at the way her eyes did change color as he did so. By some miracle, self-preservation instincts kicked in even as alarm bells sounded in his head, his gut, and at least one other place. Professionalism won the battle over physical attraction and stopped him from leaning close enough to touch her—barely.

"Fine. We can just... go dutch," he said slowly in a voice noticeably lower than his standard baritone, his eyes searching hers for signs that she was half as affected by him as he was just by being so close to her.

Immediately distracted by her own confusion from the deliciously lower timbre of his voice and the proximity of his strong, able body to her own, she stated sincerely, "I do not understand what the Netherlands could possibly have to do with our conversation."

"Wha... Oh... Haha," he laughed out loud as he realized what she was talking about. For a genius, she could be really clueless about simple things. "Go dutch..."—it's an expression, a figure of speech. It just means that, from now on, we will each pay for our own meals."

"That will be acceptable," she replied awkwardly and obviously a bit embarrassed, hating that she'd misunderstood his use of the term. He was relieved that she hadn't decided to harass him about his blatant reference to future meals. He hated that he was hoping there actually would be more of them.

* * *

She followed him across town to the Hoover Building and then surprised him by waiting patiently as he signed her in at the visitor's station. He realized as they rode the elevator up that he was running out of time to prepare her for the interview. But he couldn't for the life of him figure out the right words. _How do you prepare someone for seeing the person who abandoned her when she was just a scared kid?_ He led her into the observation room and closed the door, hoping that privacy would help him prepare her for what was coming.

"We'll be conducting the interview there," he noted, gesturing to the interrogation room. "You can sit or stand. Make yourself comfortable."

"Whom are you interviewing? Do you have a suspect?"

"No suspects yet. This is just someone who might be able to provide more context. I wanted to let you know that..."

He watched as she turned to look as another agent led the man to be interviewed into the room. The color drained from her face, quickly replaced by anger that she redirected toward him.

"Why the hell is he here?!" she demanded to know.

"I..."

"What was this? Some sort of test? Were you trying to watch my reaction?"

"No, I..."

"Listen to me, _Agent Booth_," she growled with obvious contempt as she stepped closer to him, angry enough that he backed away from her until his thighs banged into the table behind him. She moved even closer.

"You have destroyed the limited trust you had built between us by pulling this... punt. I have no interest in talking to my brother or hearing what he might have to say. Do not contact me until the investigation is over. You have my number." The fact that she'd enjoyed talking with him so much burned now that she realized he'd just been studying her to gain evidence for the case.

_Punt? Stunt? No time to quibble over terminology._ He moved, so quickly that he shocked her by beating her to the door once again.

"Look, I'm really sorry," he offered sincerely, holding up both hands in apology and looking her in the eye as soon as she condescended to look at him. He could see that she was hurting and that she was determined not to let him see how much. Damn, he wanted to pull her close and hug her until she felt better-although he worried that he'd lose critical body parts if he tried.

Seeing genuine emotion flicker on his face tugged at her, she turned away to pace across the room. She was tough, but dealing with disappointment with him on top of the shock of seeing her brother had thrown her off kilter.

He took the fact that she hadn't attacked him physically as a very good sign, "I apologize for not warning you ahead of time. This wasn't a trick. I didn't mean to ambush you."

She said nothing. _Crap_.

"Seeing your brother again after all these years must be very painful. I thought... I thought that it might help you if you could listen to him without having to face him. Maybe something he says will trigger other memories for you."

She wanted to stay angry with him, but he seemed sincere. And the lure of the truth was always the surest way to convince her to listen.

"You should have told me ahead of time," she said bluntly.

"Yeah. I realize that. I meant to. Honestly. I didn't realize they would bring him in so quickly... uh... sorry."

Without warning, she simply shut off her emotions and turned and crossed her arms as she stared at her long-lost brother through the one-way glass. "Well, now that he's here, please do interrogate him."

* * *

Russ Brennan had been fairly uncooperative, but Booth was used to dealing with crooks and petty criminals like him. Appealing to his desire to find out what happened to his mother helped a bit. Threatening to revoke his parole got more information from him. Calling him out as a loser for abandoning his sister drew even more details. Booth asked questions and nagged relentlessly until he got decent answers, all the while wondering what the woman watching the interview was thinking.

After he asked one particular question, he no longer had to wonder. A furious Temperance Brennan rushed into the room and raced around the table. Shocked, her brother rose and turned to face her, his greeting cut short by her hard right hook connecting fully with his jawbone. Booth made his way around the table and restrained her by pulling back on both elbows, afraid she might do serious damage if he didn't. The fact that he had to struggle to contain her told him clearly that she was strong as an ox. And at this moment she was even angrier than she was strong, so he actually had to work fairly hard to hold her back.

"You're lying, Russ. I have ALWAYS been able to tell when you're lying. You are hiding information from the FBI, and I won't stand by and let you lie about something that might help us find our mother's killer."

"Tempe, I'm not..."

"You know more about why our parents disappeared than you're telling, Russ. Stop lying. Don't you want to find the person who killed our mother?"

He nodded and tried to speak, but her voice dropped low and she growled at him in a tone that shut him up, "Don't sit there pretending that you actually care about anyone in our family. You didn't care when our parents left, and you certainly don't now. You are not my brother!" she barked before yanking her arms roughly from the grasp of the FBI agent and racing out of the room.

Booth sent a junior agent out quickly with orders to grab a bag of ice and offer it to her for her hand as she made her way out of the building. He told the man to follow her all the way to her office if that's what it took. Then he got back to the task at hand, more motivated than ever.

UDC… UDC… UDC…UDC…UDC…UDC…

Late that night, Booth stopped by the diner and picked up a few slices of pie and two cups of coffee. Dr. Brennan hadn't returned any of his calls, but he thought it was safe to assume that she'd be working. That's what he'd have done if he'd had to face what she had that day. If he couldn't gamble, he'd be trying to find anything to do to avoid thinking about what had happened. Something productive to actually do—to avoid punching and breaking things—like his hands. Somehow he knew instinctively that the scientist would be inclined to work through her stress as well.

He drove across town to the Jeffersonian and had the guards call Dr. Goodman to grant him access to the lab. Once inside and sporting a visitor's pass that did not require that he be escorted, he wound through the corridors to the platform where Dr. Brennan's goofy intern was working. He inquired about the man's boss and was directed by pointing and a mumbled reference to a hallway filled with lit storage drawers. He tried to avoid thinking about all the bones and dead bodies surrounding him as he walked. He wondered how anyone could ever relax in a place so full of death.

At the end of that eerie hallway, he found the scientist still hard at work in a room filled with even more creepily lit boxes of unidentified bones. He suspected that she'd been there all day. He paused for a long moment, admiring the intensity of her focus before finding himself dwelling more on the shape of her legs and other very appealing parts of her appearance. He noticed that she winced slightly every time she picked something up in her right hand. Not that she stopped or even slowed down when she felt pain. He had to admire her dedication.

Just as he started to clear his throat, he heard her speak.

"Why are you here?" she asked harshly. She was weary and now forced herself to access the last vestiges of her energy to face the man who was still the focus of her anger.

"Peace offering. My way of apologizing for not warning you in time this morning. I brought food... and coffee...," he explained, holding the offering out toward her in evidence.

"I thought we agreed that we would split the cost of...," she barked before he cut her off. "You owe me $4.28. I have a receipt," he replied before she could admonish him further. Frustrated, she frowned at him, hating that he had come prepared for her logical argument.

"I really don't have time to talk with you," she continued, still appearing to be focused entirely on her work. That sort of dismissal sent away most people trying to interrupt her work. Unfortunately, she knew he would not be as easily dissuaded.

"This will only take a few minutes," Booth replied, hoping that she'd agree to talk with him. He stepped into the room only to be reprimanded for doing so with food and beverages.

"Jeez... it's just pie and coffee," he responded. "It can't be rude to eat in front of dead people."

Annoyed, she snapped off her gloves and turned to glare at him. Then she tossed them into a hazardous waste container and walked past him, yanking a cup of coffee from him as she moved.

He followed, explaining the flavors of pie he'd brought along.

"I don't eat fruit pie," she replied dismissively. She turned into her office and sat down on one end of the sofa.

He joined her and tried again to offer her some pie. The diner's pie was incredible. He knew that she'd love it if she'd just try it. He said so, and she dismissed the idea out of hand.

"Um... I wanted to apologize again about surprising you today. I'm sorry... seeing your brother had to be hard for you." Settling in more comfortably on the sofa and trying to pretend that nothing was wrong, he nudged a box with a piece of pie toward her and dove into the slice he'd already selected for himself.

"I adjusted to Russ's absence long ago. He is no longer of importance to me," she declared loudly—loudly enough that it was clear to Booth that she was hiding her pain. She could tell that he saw straight through her, so she went on to reveal more than she'd intended, "What I could not stand was the fact that he was lying… about something so important. He really doesn't care," she trailed off miserably.

Still chewing his pie, Booth responded casually, "Actually, after you confronted him, your brother was much more forthcoming."

"He was?"

"Yes," Booth offered. She didn't need to know how intensely he'd grilled her brother or the specific threats he had made on her behalf. All that mattered was the bottom line.

"If you'd like, I can wait until I have had time to track down more complete information before I fill you in on what he told me," he offered.

Cutting her eyes around at him inquisitively, she shook her head "no."

Knowing that this would be hard for her, he dove right in. "Russ remembered moving when he was about seven. He also... remembered your family having different names."

"Different names..."

He realized from her expression that she would be more than unsettled by this news. Hating to do it but realizing she would have to learn the truth eventually, he continued, "Yes. Keenan used to be your last name."

"Why would we change names? I don't remember..."

"He said that you were too young to remember."

"What was it... what was my name?"

"Joy."

"Joy? I don't understand. People don't change their names... Their children's names."

"Like I said, I have more research to do, but it might be that your parents were in the witness protection program."

"Or that they were criminals or hiding from the authorities for another reason," she state factually, shaking her head in denial of that possibility even as she spoke the words.

He felt compelled to help ground her as she considered that her entire childhood might have been a lie, "We'll find out the truth, Dr. Brennan. I promise that we'll follow the facts until we learn the truth about your family." He hoped that his promise would mean something to her. It did to him.

"Thank you," she said in a low voice.

They sat in silence for a few moments. She sipped her coffee and he devoured the rest of his slice of pie. He was starving. He'd been so busy interrogating her brother and checking out the information Russ Brennan had provided that he hadn't eaten since their breakfast meeting.

Finally out of reasons to stay there, he got around to the real point of his visit.

"I... uh... I hate to ask, but I wondered if you wanted to talk to your brother."

"Why? What on earth would I say to him now?" she admitted miserably.

"I had him held overnight as a person of interest..., you know, in case you wanted to talk to him," Booth added, trying to read her reaction to this news.

"You did that... for me?" she responded, clearly affected by the gesture.

Damn, he hated how much he loved having an effect on her, "Yeah... it wasn't much trouble," he lied. He felt he owed her something to make up for ambushing her with her brother that morning. Yeah, maybe he'd gone a bit overboard trying to make that up to her, but he'd always been an "all in" kind of guy.

"Thank you, that was very kind of you," she stated sincerely. The sadness in her eyes cut right through him.

His gut was screaming at him that he could help her... that he had to do something that would take that look off her face—at least for a little while. His brain raced through the multiple options he had for helping her—professional and personal ones. While his mind knew that the professional route was the only way to go, his body starting leaning heavily toward more personal possibilities.

Booth knew his limits. He had to get away from her before he did something stupid. Escape. That was always a good plan.

"Sleep on it and let me know in the morning. I'll have to cut him loose by 10," Booth offered nonchalantly. She didn't have to know that he was headed back to the bureau for hours more of paperwork and to plan his strategy for how not to get fired for holding someone without a legitimate reason. "Her eyes made me do it," wasn't an option on the forms he had to fill out and his boss would lock him up if he actually told him that was what had happened.

Turning to leave, Booth paused and turned to face her again. She'd already risen and started walking toward her desk, he suspected to immerse herself in work again. "Dr. Brennan?" he asked, waiting for her to look up at him.

"Forgive me for interfering, but I know how hard dealing with family can be. Your brother strikes me as someone who tries to be the tough, silent type and who doesn't talk about his feelings very often. I just thought you'd like to know that he asked lots of questions about you today and that he seemed genuinely concerned about your well-being. He said he still feels really awful about leaving." As he spoke, unbidden tears welled in her eyes. _Dammit, Seeley. Give the girl a break._

"Look. I promise I'm not trying to make an already crappy day even harder. I just... I thought it might help to hear that he seemed really torn up after seeing you." She nodded, unable to speak any more. He turned, knowing he should just leave her alone. But he felt horrible upsetting her and running out the door.

"Are you... will you be okay?" he couldn't help asking. Her sad, forced smile and nod told him she wasn't going to let him know otherwise. Her stoic bravery hit him in the gut harder than tears would have. She was tough as nails.

"Hey, that pie from the diner has magical powers. That apple pie is guaranteed to cheer you up. You should try it," he suggested, nodding toward the box on the table and drooling a bit thinking of how good it would taste. As he'd hoped, she smiled just a bit in response. "Is that guarantee in writing?"

"It could be. Next slice with a different flavor is on me if it's not. And I'll collect that money you owe me next time I see you." Flashing her one of his best charm smiles, he turned and left her alone in her office.

Temperance let herself think for a long moment about how this was not the first time that Agent Booth had occupied her thoughts in appealing ways when leaving her presence. Again, she watched him depart, admiring the strength and coordination of his physique as he ambled out of the building.

She considered that, had she met him under other circumstances, she would have already suggested that they pursue intercourse or initiated a sexual encounter with him without asking. He was quite physically appealing, and she had noticed clear signs of intense physical attraction from him during their interactions. Sighing, she acknowledged the fruitlessness of such thoughts given the fact that he was working on her mother's case. Further, she had no clear basis for the theory aside from a reference he'd made at some point to being Catholic and the way that he kept poking at her own emotions, but she suspected that he was one of those men who preferred coitus accompanied by emotional relationships—something that would automatically prevent her from pursuing intercourse with him regardless of how satisfying she suspected it might be.

Tossing her now-empty coffee cup into the garbage can, she returned to bone storage to complete work on the skeleton. She was exhausted from dealing with emotions surrounding her brother, this case, and the imposing FBI agent. As usual, she knew that she could rely upon work to clear her mind and lower her stress level.


	7. Chapter 7 - Fate Has a Way

_**[A/N: We've reached the end of this twist on TV events. Thanks ever so much for riding along for this one. After reading your comments, I felt that I owed it you to dear readers to change this last chapter. From a writing standpoint, it probably would have been better to leave things more open and less specific about how they transitioned from where we left them mid-chapter, but I changed my mind. I thought you deserved more. Hope giving you more doesn't mean that the effect of this story diminished. **_

_**Instead of leaving the loose ends unresolved and letting you use your more skilled imaginations to figure out what happened, I ended up adding a section near the end that provided way more detail that originally planned. Let me know if it's too contrived—I can always delete what was added and revert to a less specific transition from ancient history to the present. **__**Because I feel the need to confess where I made changes, the section added starts after the reference to Cleo Eller. It was fun to write—I just hope it doesn't interfere with the way the story was unfolding.**_

_**Direct and tangential references and specific quotes pulled from the 100**__**th**__** episode and The Woman in Limbo—none of those words or Bones or its lovely characters belong to me.] **_

Chapter 7: Fate Has a Way of Leveraging a Stinking Pig Farmer and a Nosy Therapist

On the drive out to the farm, Temperance thanked him for having her accompany him on the visit. "Full disclosure...," he said lightly. "No surprises."

"My brother told me that you broiled him severely after I struck him in the interrogation room," she confided, watching him intently to gauge his response.

"What?" his voice cracked slightly. She suspected that might be a 'tell' and filed that away for future reference. Agent Booth was a fascinating subject to study. In the intervening weeks during which she had not talked with or met with him, her mind had analyzed their past interactions during her waking and sleeping hours. She wasn't clear why she was so very intrigued by him, but she was, and she was nearly past the point of hiding her curiosity.

"Oh... heh, I think you mean 'grilled,'" he deflected.

"I can only assume that you bent a few rules and went out of your way to glean information from him for my benefit," she explained, again watching him closely.

He glanced at her and then swallowed hard and set his jaw before answering, "Just trying to work the case... Doing my job," he lied. He was still in hot water over that escapade. Cullen had ripped him a new one over that maneuver. Fortunately, they'd found McVicar through a sketch an FBI artist had drawn after talking with Dr. Brennan's brother and another hurdle in the ever developing FBI-Jeffersonian partnership had been cleared with his help—or he'd be demoted to assistant floor mopper by now.

"You clench your jaw and grind your teeth when you're choosing your words carefully," she noted.

"Are you studying me, Dr. Brennan?"

"I am a student of kinesiology, human culture, and anthropology," she replied with a smile, "Just doing my job."

"Touché," he replied with a grin as he pulled into the long drive leading to the farm.

* * *

It was fortunate that their drive out that morning had been lighthearted and full of banter because the meeting with McVicar had proved to be unproductive and more than a bit upsetting. Booth could tell the man was nervous. He kept making preemptive strikes to try to control the situation and throw them off. And he was clearly toying with Dr. Brennan's emotions. It took all of Booth's self-control not to shoot the man—and not just to wound him. He as much as threatened that specific action to convince the man to leave them alone in the barn after he'd done his worst—and he finally did—not a moment too soon.

After watching until the vile man had moved completely out of sight, Booth's heart broke for her as he listened to her repeating facts in an obvious attempt to calm herself down.

"My name is Brennan. I'm Dr... Dr. Temperance Brennan. I work at the Jeffersonian Institution. I'm a forensic anthropologist. I specialize in identif...," she started to cry.

Cautiously, he walked around in front of her, moving into her line of sight as she began speaking again "in identifying... in identifying people when nobody knows who they are. My father was science teacher. My mother was a bookkeeper. My brother... I have a brother. I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan."

She looked up at him, tears streaming.

He spoke to her encouragingly, "Nothing he said changes anything. His words don't matter, and they're probably not even the truth." He paused, seeing that she was literally shaking in anguish from hearing that her mother might have had an affair and that her father may have killed her. _Hell, who wouldn't be blown away getting such news? _

He willed her to listen, to believe what he was saying. He spoke to her intently, his gaze never straying from her troubled eyes. "Nothing he said changes anything. You are the same person you were this morning... You are Doctor Temperance Brennan." On instinct, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Surprisingly, she did not resist.

He'd hugged many grieving family members when they'd gotten bad news. It was part of the job. He told himself that it was just the decent, the human thing to do to hold her as she cried.

He ignored the flare in his gut that told him that he should have done this sooner. He also ignored the way that her breathing synced up with his and the way his blood pressure calmed down the longer he held her. And he truly hated it when she put a hand on his arm and finally pushed herself out of his embrace.

"Thank you, Agent Booth. You are a very kind person," she said earnestly as she swiped at the remnants of her tears. He nearly blushed at the compliment.

The ride back to the district was quiet. Each of them was preoccupied with disturbing thoughts and not predisposed to converse about them.

* * *

Weeks went by. Booth kept working the case but there weren't many more developments. After that first visit to the farm, Booth had worked with FBI and Jeffersonian squints to identify the murder weapon. Behind his back and despite being forbidden to do so, the loud, angry squint named Hodgins had asked and allowed Dr. Brennan to help. Naturally, she was the one who had identified the specific tool that matched her mother's wounds. Booth had made both of them swear to say that she hadn't helped at all if anyone ever asked. She'd insisted that they wouldn't ever have identified it without her. He told her that if she wanted her mother's killer to see justice, she was to keep that information strictly between them. And then instead of arguing with her, he'd driven back out and arrested McVicar and put him back behind bars where he belonged.

They needed more evidence to build an air tight case, but they hadn't come up with much else. Weeks of little progress turned into months. Despite the slow progress, he barely noticed that the task force was struggling and clearly in need of new leadership. The idea that he should be working on it now seemed part of the distant past. As was his gambling. Of course, he'd thought about gambling over and over again, but he'd begun attending Gamblers Anonymous meetings and was now equipped with tools and a support group to help him banish that bad habit.

Across town, Dr. Brennan was busy working and had immersed herself in other cases so that she could avoid dealing with the fallout of the one that affected her most personally.

Red tape kept the agreement between the agencies in limbo for a while, so Booth had no excuse to call her until one fell into his lap. Then, after what he had learned, he really didn't want to contact her at all. Even so, this wasn't the kind of information that he could sit on. He knew that he had to talk to her.

Full of dread, he knocked on the door to her apartment. It was late. He should have called. He said so. Yielding yet another peace offering, he held up food from Sid's.

After some hesitation, she invited him in. He looked around at her enormous, beautifully decorated apartment and whistled before he told her that he loved her place. It was impressive. His own apartment could fit into just her great room—more than once. Upon hearing the honesty of his compliment, she turned back and smiled at him in an open way—without her customary walls up in defense, and he nearly dropped the food he was holding. Damn, she was beautiful.

She pulled out dishes, utensils, and napkins, and they ate in companionable silence sprinkled with bickering just as they had from the day they'd first met. Sensing that Agent Booth was either delaying the delivery of distressing news or building up the courage to ask her out, she took charge of the situation hoping to avoid either option.

She'd thought far too much about him since the last time she'd seen him. He looked good—a bit less edgy than usual. And she admired the way he filled out his casual clothing. It was refreshing to see him in other than perfectly pressed suits. As she appraised him silently, she knew that she had only to close her eyes to remember the strength of his arms around her and the affect that his scent and his kindness had on her. She'd already done that more times than she'd like to remember.

Because she was unaccustomed to being affected by someone and not making a direct advance to achieve what she wanted and because she found herself enjoying his unexpected visit far more than she should, she suddenly became anxious to bring that visit to a close. Better to get this over with and press on to complete the case so that he could move on and they could stop spending time together.

"While I appreciate your visit and the food, I must confess that it is late and I must get some rest," she said as she rose and cleared items from the table. Helping her automatically, he cleared his place and boxed up the leftovers. As he handed them over, he finally confessed, "Look, I'm sorry to have showed up here so late. But there is an official reason for my visit."

"I see," she replied, dreading whatever he might say next.

"McVicar's dead. He was killed by another prisoner."

She blanched. Then she threw the food into the refrigerator and paced across the room as she thought aloud, "He was the person who killed my mother. Convicting him was going to bring justice. And he knew about my father..."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you for dropping by. And for the food. Let me get some money..." She stammered as she reached for her purse and started rummaging around in it in an attempt to hide her distress.

Automatically crossing the room and standing behind her, he reached out when he saw her shoulders start to tremble.

She flinched when his hands grasped her shoulders and squeezed them supportively, and then he heard her voice shake as she spoke wistfully, "Now I'll never know the truth."

He turned her around and stepped closer, stretching his arms out to offer a hug.

"Take it... it's just a guy hug," he explained. He pulled her close, not giving her a chance to refuse the gesture.

"A guy hug?" she asked, more than a bit puzzled by the reference given the way he was holding her. His strong arms molded her body to his own, and she allowed herself to be comforted by his strength, relaxed by his masculine scent, warmed by the heat emanating from him, and bolstered by his support.

"This is the manner in which you hug other men?"

Shaking his head and chuckling at how literally she took everything, he explained, "No. You know, it's just a hug...," he replied, trying carefully to describe what he felt as she was in his arms in terms as far from the truth as possible. Even as he relaxed into the feel of holding her tightly and supportively again, he lied for both their sakes, "you know... platonic... supportive... no strings... Just a hug."

"Just a hug," she whispered as she melted into his strong embrace once again.

* * *

"I have to stop letting you hug me when I'm upset," she insisted as she pulled away.

Yeah, and he should probably stop doing that. But damn, he was pretty sure he wouldn't. He felt actual physical pain when she left his arms. Leaning in and melding their bodies even closer together would have been more natural and much more fulfilling. Still, realizing how wrong that would be, Booth did what he could to make it easier for her to deal with the fact that their embrace had felt so right.

"My mom taught me to be a gentleman. A gentleman doesn't ignore a lady when she's upset. You've had to deal with upsetting news. I hated being the one to bring it to you." He paused, still searching for the right words, "You're so much stronger than most people... I think it makes it that much harder to watch you deal so bravely with bad news. You didn't need to be hugged, but I needed to hug you just in case it helped. It was for me... not for you," he offered dishonestly but with chivalry. She smiled at his obvious attempt to deflect and to conceal his own discomfort.

For the briefest instant, she considered asking him how frequently he hugged others he interviewed about cases but decided that she would stay in safer territory, "What do we do now... now that McVicar can't be prosecuted?"

"We keep working. I'll interview the prisoner who killed McVicar and talk to everyone he interacted with. I'll talk to your brother again. We'll tap into other databases. We'll catch a break. I won't give up on your mother's case or on finding out about your father." His expression told her how committed he really was to helping her find out the truth, "I promise."

She looked up at him and spoke heartfelt words she could not have expected to utter truthfully just a few months before. Those words meant the world to him.

"I believe you."

* * *

Looking back on his intended "lucky day," Booth realized that it actually had been. He couldn't imagine what would have happened if he hadn't been assigned to that case and if he hadn't met Bones when he had. Following through on that promise to her had saved him personally and salvaged his career. Hell, it had made his career. But more importantly, in fulfilling his commitment to her, he'd become the man he was intended to be. His gambling behind him, he became more together, less ragged, more focused, and the capable leader he'd been born to be.

After the Bureau established ties with the Jeffersonian, Booth had been the logical choice for liaison with the lab. After a bumpy start and despite all odds, he found a partner there—one with whom he established a solid rapport, broke records for FBI case solve rates, and fell deeply in love. He got the promotion he'd wanted eventually and now commanded the respect of his subordinates, peers, and bosses, but he'd since turned down multiple offers to move beyond the one leading the special crimes division. He had found his place and had no interest in pursuing anything more visible or apparently more powerful. He was right where he wanted to be.

Their partnership saved them both. Being her partner helped him move past the damage caused by his past to realize his untapped potential. Being hers helped her learn to trust people and stop avoiding her emotions.

Eventually, he and his partner solved her mother's case and found her father. Booth had stood by her through the man's trial and convinced her not to give up on Max even when he disappointed her. As an established team, they solved current crimes and dug up lots of old cases—even finding the murderers of Gemma Arrington and Cleo Eller—solving cases that had long since been shelved and abandoned as unsolvable.

* * *

Years later, after the initial connection they'd established had blossomed into a very close, life-changing friendship and solid, career-altering partnership, they both still fought against the intense pull of attraction that constantly bubbled just beneath the surface and that, from time to time, threatened to overwhelm both of them. On the verge of giving in, Booth had faltered after his brain tumor, trying to follow advice from their friends warning him that he'd hurt her if he weren't absolutely sure of his feelings. While he really thought he was, fervently hoped he was, and prayed incessantly that he actually was "the one" for her, that small abused kid deep inside him was just a bit too afraid that he couldn't be enough for her. She deserved only the best, and he was damned good but damaged. He couldn't bear the thought of letting her down. So he danced around her carefully, alternating between just being her partner and friend considering declaring his feelings for her and fighting through the intense jealousy that short-circuited his brain every time some other guy got close enough to touch her the way he wanted, the way he dreamed of doing.

For her part, Temperance had been absolutely unnerved by the intensity of her emotional attachment to her partner when she'd thought he was dead after he was shot while she was singing karaoke and when she thought she'd lost him to the Gravedigger and when she thought the brain tumor had stolen his memories of her. Every person she'd loved that much had abandoned her and she had not formed such a close attachment with anyone else after her years in foster care and solitude. Admitting that she needed him and relied upon him and possibly even loved him was just too great a risk. She had some evidence that her fears were unfounded but not enough for the scientific, logical part of her to accept as incontrovertible. She knew that Booth wouldn't leave her of his own volition, but she worried his job would take him away prematurely or that, if she were brave enough to confess her feelings for him, that she'd let him down—she was horrible at relationships and just wasn't equipped with the open heart and empathy required to maintain a committed relationship of any duration.

That evening after they'd told Sweets about their first case... the case in which Booth found her mother's killer, he'd pressed them to admit that they were in love. During that long conversation, she'd seen subtle signs of Booth's discomfort, the way his voice had cracked when he'd admitted that he'd hugged her twice but when he'd informed Sweets that nothing more had happened. She'd also seen him glance away when she had stated—perhaps too emphatically-that they weren't in love. Booth had noticed a fearful look in his partner's eyes when Sweets had confronted them about their feelings. That and her very clear statement that they weren't in love had reminded him that he had to be patient—unless he was willing to let her break his heart completely.

But on that walk to the train station to grab dinner afterward, he'd given in to the pulsing within him that told him that Sweets was right, that he'd have to be the one brave enough to risk everything amazing between them in order for it to ever evolve into what he wanted for them—so much more. So he had asked her to give them a shot and kissed her, pouring his heart and his soul into that kiss. Then he had nearly stumbled when she pushed him away and refused him, his heart breaking as he should have known it would.

He'd agreed to remain her partner but wasn't sure how that was really going to work. Could he deal with the constant ache and desire for her knowing that what he wanted most was never going to happen? As they walked to the train arm in arm and unusually silent, he closed his eyes and realized that he was a goner. Yes, he'd continue worshipping her quietly from the doorway of her office or from across a field at a crime scene. He'd done so for years in silence. Sure, he'd probably have to stop dropping by her apartment as often after hours, and he expected that she'd do the same-just to minimize the pain he'd be feeling. But he knew—as much as he knew that he loved her, as much as he realized fully now that he'd always loved her—that he would stick around and be her partner. That was who he'd become and who he was meant to be—heartbreak or not.

* * *

And that's exactly what happened. They both pretended that things were fine even as they both knew that they weren't. They remained partners, friends, and more than that. But the tension surrounding their unresolved emotional attachment grew steadily over time. Months later, they met at the coffee cart on the Mall to discuss their planned year apart. He'd told her to go to the Maluku Islands because he knew that's what she wanted. She supported his plan to go to Afghanistan to train soldiers. Out of character, she'd suggested that nothing would change between them—probably just to spare his feelings. Realizing that she was right in one painful respect in that what he wanted most was not ever going to happen, he'd reminded her that it was inevitable that they would evolve during their time spent apart. Having promised to meet again upon their return, they'd left to make plans and book flights-their fates decided, but their hearts much less resolved.

That night, Booth had made calls to Parker and to Pops to tell them about his plans. They were both supportive and told him how much they'd miss him. He felt exactly the same way. He'd text Jared or email him—hell, Jared would probably not even try to reach him until after he got back—it's not as if they talked often.

Still, the reality that all that remained after those two calls was to give his notice to the FBI rankled. He had few personal attachments and had maintained few close friendships. The fact that he'd invested nearly all of his energy and commitment into his partnership with Bones was painfully clear. And now that they were both walking away from that, he felt more alone and tempted to gamble than he had in years.

* * *

A knock at his door around midnight woke him up from his unplanned nap in front of the television. Blinking hard and clearing his throat, he opened the door. His partner stood there, tears rimming her beautiful eyes.

"Bones? What's wrong?" he asked, adrenaline spiking automatically upon seeing her distress. He reached out and grasped her elbow to guide her into the apartment.

"I'd like a drink," she requested, nodding toward his bottle of scotch and walking toward it when he gave her permission to drink it. She swallowed one glass quickly and then poured one for each of them. They settled on the sofa side-by-side and facing forward, each taking a sip and glancing around awkwardly.

"I have been eagerly anticipating my trip to the Maluku project and immersing myself in excavation and identification of any remains there," she began. He looked at her and nodded, not clear on where this was headed.

"I have formally accepted the offer and resigned from my position at the Jeffersonian, pending the return from my sabbatical," she added. _What is she doing, making it clear that she can't wait to leave me?_

"I have rescheduled all planned appearances and book signings with my agent," she continued, polishing off her drink but still holding onto the glass and staring into it as if it were going to reveal some hidden meaning.

"What I'm hearing you say, Bones, is that you're all set. That you've made all the arrangements and that you're ready to leave," Booth offered for her sake, ignoring the continued ache in his gut that had started that night outside the train station.

"Yes," she replied, nodding slowly. "However, I have not yet booked my flight to Indonesia."

He glanced at her, deciding that her genius brain was just too many steps ahead of his. He tried to help her make it clear for him, "So are you asking if I want to fly with you, Bones? When I turn in my paperwork tomorrow, they're going to insist that I fly on an Army transport plane. I won't be able to fly commercial, and I'm not sure they'd let you fly with us."

"I understand that we cannot fly out together, Booth," she grumbled, more than a bit frustrated.

Not knowing what to say, he waited for her to enlighten him.

"I find...," she began, but then she stopped and bit her lip. "I find that I am unable to finalize my flight arrangements."

"Do you need some help? I can get my computer...," he began, slowly rising to retrieve his laptop until she reached out and tugged on his arm to pull him back down onto the sofa.

"Seriously, Bones. If all the first-class seats are booked, flying coach won't kill you. It will tie your back in knots and leave you with a crick in your neck, but you're tough. You can handle it."

"I am not making myself clear," she replied. He stared at her nonplussed, thinking that he must still be groggy because he was completely confused about why she was there and why they were having this bizarre conversation she should have been having with her travel agent.

"My travel agent provided a list of flights, some of which are acceptable." He squinted at her, wondering what in the hell was bugging her. "However, I find myself unable to commit to booking any of them."

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Bones. I have no freaking idea what you're talking about. You're the most decisive person I know. You not able to pick a flight? I just don't get it."

She smiled a small smile and then looked up at him. "I can understand why you are confused."

"What's wrong, Bones? Tell me how I can help." His honest interest in helping her leave him made her heart stutter. His capacity to support her despite the difficulty she posed to him and despite the fact that being near him rendered her completely illogical and irrational was almost too much to bear.

"While it is not logical and I cannot fully understand it, I believe that I am suffering from what is commonly known as cold extremities."

"Come again?"

"My tarsals and metatarsals and phalanges are cold... metaphorically, of course."

"Your... your feet?"

"Yes, that's what I said, my feet are cold."

"Bones, you're killing me. How much did you have to drink before you came over?"

"I must be saying it incorrectly. I have cold feet. Is that clearer?"

_Cold feet… _

"As I said, there is no other rational explanation for my indecision. I have tried repeatedly to select a flight to the Islands, but each time, I am overcome with emotion and unable to make the commitment."

Stunned into silence, he just stared at her, not breathing.

"I suspect that what is really bothering me is that I am experiencing distress about leaving and evolving without you... outside our partnership."

Out of concern for her, a rush of air filled his lungs—enough to allow him to speak. "Aww, Bones. I'll miss you, too. But we promised that we'll keep in touch. We'll be okay. It's just a year." He was lying, but she was clearly upset, so he would say whatever she needed to hear.

"I have something to confess," she admitted more quietly. His heart skipped a beat when he looked into her eyes.

"As I told Angela, my intention in planning to join the Maluku project was to give myself time and space in order to regain perspective about our partnership… and about my fears and concerns surrounding it." He swallowed hard. _Damn, if she's going to end our partnership, too..._

"In so doing, I underestimated my ability to continue exploring the scenario and extending it rationally to its conclusion even without the benefit of time and space to do so."

He looked at her quizzically, still not understanding.

Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand upon his where it was resting upon the sofa between them. He closed his eyes and then sought hers out, as always, unable to deny her anything she requested.

"I have reached the conclusion that if I spend a year in the Maluku Islands that I will miss you more than I can comfortably accommodate. Further, I am now convinced that, if we spend this year apart, that it might end up being time wasted. For I believe that," she paused and took a deep breath to steady herself, "upon gaining the appropriate perspective about our... about us, that I will find that I have erred in a regrettable and possibly irrevocable manner. And, knowing what I have learned through exploring the evidence mentally instead of during a planned absence, I find that I cannot wait for a year to learn the outcome. Instead, I want to know now."

He moved his head in small circles as he tried to understand her words. Bones could ramble and jibber-jabber with the best of them, but he thought he'd learned to decipher her general meaning in most situations—if not the specific details. But he couldn't begin to believe that she was actually saying what he thought she was saying.

"I need some more help here, Bones. I'm not sure I'm following," he confessed. She squeezed his hand and smiled. Then she took his hand in both of hers and cradled it gently. Her eyes imploring him, she tried again to express her thoughts and emotions.

"What I am trying to ask you, Booth, is if you still have any interest in giving us a shot… in pursuing a relationship outside the bounds of our friendship and partnership."

He simply stared at her.

Crushed by his lack of a response, she began backpedalling, "I understand. I was correct in assuming that you had moved on as you had planned. That it is too late. That I missed my chance..."

She tried to withdraw and turn away, but he grasped her hands in his and held on tightly.

"Look at me, Bones." Trying to hide her pain, she looked up slowly.

"I love you."

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. She wanted to believe that he was telling her that there was still a chance, but she wasn't quite certain.

"You and I are pretty awful at talking about how we feel... what we mean to each other. But if I understand what you've been trying to say, and if you really do want to be with me... give us... a real relationship a chance, then I'm in."

"You haven't moved on? You... it's not too late?"

"I meant it when I said that I love you, Bones. And I meant it when I said that "I knew." I know we'll be good together."

"But we're so different. I don't know how to have your kind of open heart. What if I can't be what you want?"

"There are no guarantees, Bones; we're both taking a risk. But we'll be taking that risk together. And we're a great team."

He smiled at her and she grinned back at him. "We are a great team."

All reasons for holding back finally dispelled, the two leaned in and kissed. And pretty soon neither of them could remember a single reason why they shouldn't have done so long ago. Booth insisted that they take things slowly and that she let him court her. Aside from experiencing the joy of allowing him to show her how he felt about her and being brave enough to reveal some of her considerable emotion to him, she had been too curious about what it would be like to be "courted properly" to refuse him.

She withdrew from the Maluku project and signed a new contract with the Jeffersonian. He told the Army that he was staying retired but he recommended a few others who might be interested in the job. And they dated. And they bickered. And she pulled away. And he chased her and pulled her close. And they spent glorious hours doing nothing but embracing. And the tiny bud of a loving relationship that had emerged when they had met long ago had finally blossomed into a glorious, heartfelt, soul-healing relationship. And they finally acknowledged and confessed their love for one another.

Leveraging all their practice at going undercover and years spent avoiding their feelings, they managed to keep the new facet of their relationship a secret for several months. And by the time Angela figured out what was going on, they were past the point of caring who knew that they were madly in love. And the rest, in the vernacular, is history.

* * *

She never let him forget that she was the reason they had been able to solve those old cold cases. When she tried to claim all the credit, he reminded her that he had taught her everything she knew about solving cases that were less than a century old. She typically countered by telling him he'd still be a degenerate gambler if he hadn't met her. When she spoke those words, he always kissed her deeply and then reminded her that he had convinced her to gamble on giving love and a family a chance. While that would have been enough to stop most couples from arguing and challenging one another, it wasn't always that way for them. They enjoyed their special kind of bickering too much to give it up for very long. But they also knew exactly when to stop pushing one another and when to agree that their partnership had been the best thing that had happened to either of them.

* * *

One night years later, they sat reminiscing about their partnership and discussing that first case they handled before they even became partners. Despite the hundreds of other cases they had completed since, that one still stood out. It hadn't been a traditional start to a partnership, but it had certainly laid a foundation for them to grow together-professionally and personally.

"I didn't even call you 'Bones' on that case," he teased her as they sat on the sofa, legs entwined, sipping wine.

"But you flirted with me mercilessly. And you hugged me—TWICE."

"And you hated that, right?" he grinned as the fingertips of the arm he'd draped around her shoulders danced flirtatiously along her collarbone.

"It was certainly unexpected. However, I have to admit that even that long ago I was attracted to your physique... and to your heart," she confided in that completely heartfelt way she did sometimes. Each time, it still blew him away that she had learned to be that open and vulnerable with him.

"My metaphorical heart?" he joked after swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Of course, Booth. Being attracted to a muscle would be rather strange."

"I'm attracted to more than one of your muscles, Bones."

She shook her head at yet another of his unceasing attempts to bring up sex and their continued mutually fulfilling attraction. She'd been pleasantly surprised that marriage and parenthood and their very busy jobs had not slowed down the hunger each still felt for the other. "If you had spoken those words to me on that first case, I might have asked for another agent to be assigned."

"You would not!" he scoffed, hoping that she really wouldn't have.

She could not resist teasing Booth whenever he felt vulnerable because it was so seldom. Their partnership and their relationship had healed him in unforeseen ways. He was steady and sure. He was confident… overly so. He was happy. He was unabashedly, nauseatingly, goofily happy most of the time. And the fact that he no longer doubted his ability to be so was the sexiest thing about him. So she teased him further to avoid jumping him right then and there.

"Perhaps I would have requested another agent. Your overly flirtatious behavior would have been very forward-entirely inappropriate."

He leered at her openly before waggling his eyebrows at her, "I couldn't help it that you were so hot and that I wanted you so badly."

"You couldn't?" she asked, smiling up at him seductively.

"Still can't," he whispered, leaning down to capture her lips in a passionate kiss.

He pulled her closer even as she extricated her lips from his and tried to talk. "I never suspected during that case that we would end up partners... or that that we would have a child and marry."

"It was fate, Bones. We'd have found a way to one another even if we hadn't met on your mom's case. Some way, somehow, we would have ended up together. Even under different circumstances."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Nothing else in my life has ever felt this right, Bones." He kissed her tenderly and pulled back to look into her eyes. They still dazzled him. Every single day.

"While I still do not believe in fate, I have to admit that I, too, feel that us... our family... It is right for us. And although I had not yet obtained a clear understanding of your strength of character and predisposition to protect and care for others when we first met, I was touched by your kindnesses during the investigation," she confessed as she gazed at him lovingly.

"And you wanted my ripped body," he grinned as he put an end to their conversation by distracting them both in the way that they both treasured most.

The end.

_**[A/N: Thank you again so very much for reading here! It has been an honor sharing my mental mischief-making with you. ~MiseryMaker]**_


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